


Agent of Change

by INMH



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, M/M, Mpreg, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the Les Miserables kink meme. Grantaire had one hand on the cradle and one on an unopened bottle of wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agent of Change

**Author's Note:**

> [Link to the Les Miserables kink meme on LJ.](http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/9761.html#comments)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I… Have never written mpreg before. I have never even come close. *Throws the fic at you and runs*

Grantaire had one hand on the cradle and one on an unopened bottle of wine.

The tiny pink creature in said cradle seemed oblivious to the low mood that his caretaker was in. He was too busy sucking on his fingers, eyes locked on Grantaire; one might assume that this was a heartwarming sign that he recognized his parent, but Grantaire thought it had more to do with the fact that all the child could likely see from his position was the ceiling, and that his father's visage was a new and interesting change in the scenery.

Grantaire stared back at him for a while, mouth in a tight line, considering. The baby stared back, blinking and innocent. He was an attractive child, and it was enough to melt anyone's heart- eventually, Grantaire sighed and groaned slightly as he felt his start to crumble a bit as well.

"Yes, yes," He grumbled, tapping the heavy bottle against his leg. "You're adorable and you know I can't resist you. To the devil with you and your looks: I'm the one who bore you, and people would probably have an easier time recognizing _him_ as your parent instead of me."

He wouldn't speak that certain someone's name, because after almost twenty-four hours of excruciating pain preceded by morning sickness, fatigue, about six months of sobriety and just general discomfort, Grantaire was holding a grudge. A big grudge. It was only just recently that Combeferre had given him permission to get up and walk and slowly begin resuming normal life, and what he had endured prior to that would not be so easily forgotten, no sir.

What Combeferre seemed to forget was that Grantaire's version of 'normal' involved a bottle of whatever alcohol he could get a hold of. At the moment, the nail of his thumb was scraping mindlessly at the cork in the wine he'd found stashed in his room. It was lighter than his usual preferences, but he wasn't stupid: After six months of nothing, starting slow would be wise.

Adrien- that was the child's name, and Grantaire had fought tooth and nail from his bed that the child wouldn't be named Maximilien or Jean-Jacques or some similar revolutionary bullshit that he knew _certain people_ would be inclined to christening him as- was an agreeable child, which was terribly ironic given that one parent was a loud-mouthed, cynical jackass and the other was known for causing trouble; deliberate, carefully-planned trouble, but trouble nevertheless.

It was because he was agreeable that Grantaire was torn. It would be much easier to distance himself from Adrien if he screamed and cried and never gave him a moment's peace. It would be easier to give up if parenting the boy was difficult, if he struggled when he needed to be cleaned and spit up defiantly when he was fed. It would be easier to just grab a wine bottle and fall back into his old oblivion if he felt no attachment to Adrien whatsoever, much in the style Grantaire's own father had chosen when he was young. A part of him yearned for the easy way out, because children had never been in his plans and he had not even been slightly pleased to hear that one was in store for him about six months previously.

But the fact of the matter was that a part of Grantaire, a part much larger than the other, was quietly delighted to hear Adrien coo when he awoke in the morning; that same part was rent mercilessly in two when Adrien cried. This part was what inspired in Grantaire utter and complete self-loathing, because what kind of parent even briefly begrudged their child's existence?

Combeferre might say that it was human to be shaken at such a drastic change in one's life, to be overwhelmed in the face of such massive responsibility. But to a child, parents were not human: Parents were gods who shaped their children's worlds, who made the sun rise and set every morning, who provided food and shelter and warmth. Grantaire was not a human anymore, he was a god, and so was- well, _he_ had always been one.

What would life be for Adrien if his god abandoned him now?

Grantaire couldn't think about it. Whatever other doubts and uncertainties he had in his mind, he knew very clearly that he loved Adrien and had no desire to see him grow up the way he had, with an alcoholic bastard of a father who never had time for anything but a slap across the face and a raw word. No, he knew that pain, and he couldn't inflict it upon Adrien.

It was for that reason that Grantaire sucked in a deep breath, rolled his eyes to the ceiling in supplication to a deity he had no belief in, and then put the bottle in his hand down on the floor.

"Come now, Adrien." He muttered, gently reaching into the cradle and lifting the infant out. "Come sit with me for a bit. I'll tell you the story of how your uncles Courfeyrac and Bahorel came by your cradle- with a few omissions of certain phrases to protect your delicate little ears."

He took Adrien back to bed and let the child settle contentedly on his chest before starting in on the story. As he spoke, Grantaire ran a finger down Adrien's back and felt it rise and fall with every breath, and considered that, just for tonight, he might let the child sleep with him in bed.

And _he-_ all right, _Enjolras-_ might be allowed to as well, once the bastard got back from planning his damn revolution.

-End


End file.
